


Volatile Wishes and Dying Dreams

by xKeshire



Series: Manga AUs (aka everything i love mashed together) [1]
Category: CLAMP - Works, Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, xxxHoLic
Genre: AU- Bakery, AU- xxxHolic, Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, John is a lonely baby, M/M, Magic, Multi, Rating will change eventually, Spirits/ Yokai, Suicide Attempt, Vriska is literally a spider B-, Wish Shop, dark themes, wish granting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xKeshire/pseuds/xKeshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is no such thing as coincidence, there is only fate"</p><p>John Egbert is a typical college student, if anything a bit sloppier than average - but he has been plagued by spirits and ayakashi ever since his parents passed away when he was only four. However one day when he is chased by a spirit, he stumbles upon a bakery where he meets two witches, Jade and Rose, and in exchange for his employment, his wish to be rid of these spirits will be granted. Until then, he is thrown deeper into the world of the supernatural, all the while acquiring his own romantically-interested spirit bodyguard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volatile Wishes and Dying Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> "There are things in this world that defy explanation. Mankind will always notice it, no matter what. It is always so. But the imagination, people, mankind...They are more strange than anything else." -Ichihara Yuuko

**4:41**

It’s a brisk Washington evening. A young boy, who has just turned the ripe age of four, is seated in the center of a colorfully decorated living room, surrounded by a plethora of recently acquired toys. His dark raven hair, once gelled into sleek spikes, is now fluffed into an unruly case of bed-head. His teeth and too big rectangular glasses peer precariously over the precipice of his features as he leans over, engrossed in a new set of Legos.

 

So engrossed that he doesn’t notice the change in lighting as a shadow skirts the edge of the house, temporarily blocking the sun, before withdrawing into the recesses of the backyard.

 

Two doting parents lounge languidly on the couch placed flush against the wall across their little child. The father, fedora and pipe adorned, slowly nods off to sleep, his heading finding solace on his wife’s shoulder. His wife looks lovingly at her two boys, gently removing the hat from her husband’s raven head and sweeping her wavy shoulder-length hair to her back.

 

A shadow flits across the periphery of her vision, but in a blink it’s gone. She scrubs at her eyes. It has been a long day preparing the party and keeping numerous four year olds in line. Perhaps she should follow suit and take a nap.

 

**4:42**

 

_Thump._

 

The young boy rears his head, searching the room for the source of the noise. Behind him he notices his parents’ closed eyes. Sleeping.

 

_Thump._

There it is again. The bespectacled boy slowly clambers upright, dropping his Legos in the process. With one last look at his parents, he walks over to the glassy backyard doors.

 

The sunny sky has suddenly become overcast, threatening a barrage of raindrops. The wind has begun to pick up as the foliage in the backyard sway back and forth. One particular bush rustles especially violently, a dark black aura surrounding it.

 

The boy presses his face against the cool glass to get a better look at the bush, his glasses clinking at the contact. Out of his mother’s white chrysanthemum bush, emerges a willowy woman. Her skin a pearly white, appearing whiter against her coal black hair which whips around in long tendrils in the wind. She is barefoot, wearing only a modest white sundress. The young boy briefly wonders if she is cold out there, dressed so scantily.

 

She lightly makes her way up to the glass and crouches down to the boy’s level. Dark crimson eyes stare into sapphire blue ones. Similarly painted lips curl into a severe smile, one that immediately raises red flags in the boy’s mind.

 

“Hi little boy. Won’t you let me inside?”

 

The child blinks owlishly and turns his head towards his sleeping parents, unsure what to do.

 

“It’s awfully cold out here. I’d be very happy if you let me inside,” the lady pleads, lips stretching wider into a long line across her face.

 

“I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,” the boy responds.

 

The lady looks stunned for a moment before breaking into a small chuckle.

 

“I’m not a stranger. I’m your parents’ friend. Sorry I was late for your birthday party.”

 

The boy cocks his head slightly. He doesn’t remember this lady. He also doesn’t remember his parents saying anything about another visitor.

 

“Jonathan? Dear? Who are you talking to?”

 

Two sets of heads whip over in the direction of the voice, one in frustration and one in relief. The woman snarls to herself, her lips curling hideously to reveal pointed canines. Footsteps gradually become louder.  Looks like it’s time to take a more direct approach. The lady stretches herself to her regular height and places a bony hand on the glass panels.

 

A sharp gasp fills the silence and a demanding voice immediately resounds. “Jonathan. Get away from the window immediately.”

 

The child looks at his mother who is flushed white in fear, body racked with slight tremors, but her clear blue eyes look forward in steely determination. Why was she so scared? He’s never seen his mother like this before.

 

Another pair of heavier footsteps approaches the scene, accompanied by the faint scent of smoke. The father steps in, a large blue hammer in tow hefted over his broad shoulder. Where did he get such a big toy? The boy wonders curiously.

 

“James and Jessica Egbert,” the lady coos shrilly from outside the house. At this moment, the wind has picked up, causing her hair flying like dark tendrils. Her eyes glowing bright like a cat and the young boy reels back in fear as the skin around her neck peels back. “What a pleasure to eat you.”

 

**4:44**

Glass cracks sending shards flying.

Piercing shrieks and sharp grunts echo throughout the house, followed by the sickening crunches of bones and sloshing of viscous red liquid.

Darkness floods the area as white chrysanthemum petals adorn the floor.

A lone cry fills the following silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Gasp._

 

Your eyes flash open and you sit up on your bed disoriented, head reeling, eyes glazed, and chest heaving as you take in big gulping breaths, anything to get air back into your lungs. It almost as if you had just broken the surface of water after minutes of being submerged. Your body buzzes and is racked with shivers as it tries to bring you down from your adrenaline fueled high. It takes several long measured inhalations and exhalations to finally steady your erratic heartbeat and stave off the darkness of your haunting nightmare. With a shaking hand, you rifle through your mess of hair, only to wipe it in disgust on your sheets when you notice it come back with a thin sheen of sweat. God that's disgusting.

 

Mental note: keep a towel next to your bed. Note 2: You really need a shower. Desperately. But just as you attempt you attempt to swing yourself off the bed, your legs are inexplicably pinned down and you find yourself on your side like a beached merman. You attempt to turn your head to locate the source of the problem but all you see is a blur of black atop your blankets. Oh wait...Duh...you don't have your glasses on. After much blind scrabbling (which you don't wish to divulge how long that took…in your defense you are as blind as a mole without them) you finally locate your glasses placing them on their rightful perch atop your nose. With the aid of the glasses, the indistinguishable blur refocuses itself and ...

 

"Augh! Get off! I thought I got rid of you guys last weekend."

 

Seated on your legs are hundreds of black fluff balls…sorry you mean soot sprites....soot sprites that flash their big bright eyes right towards you almost comically, but their doe eyes have no effect on you. You categorized them as pests only after about three infestations of them. Everything they touch becomes covered in thick layers of dark ashy dust which is an absolute PAIN to clean up. It's almost as if a volcano erupted in your apartment.

 

Imagine pulling on a pair of boxers to find them filled with soot. Not just one pair though, all of them. Plus with no time to run a load before class, you are stuck sitting in a two hour long seminar while you are subject to the inquisitive stares of classmates as you constantly fidget around trying to relieve the itch in your underpants. Oh god, your math teacher even pulled you aside after that seminar to prescribe a certain anti-itch cream and advised you to head to the student wellness building for a safe sex talk. You couldn't look him in the face after that.

 

You slowly make a movement to grab the edge of your blanket as you hold the spirits’ blank stares.

 

"Get out!"

 

Your yell shocks them, but not as much as the violent flip of the blanket which effectively traps them all in a hobo-bag esque bundle. You carry the bag at an arms-length watching it progressively darken as the sprites thrash around inside and you quickly maneuver yourself to your balcony window. Leaning over the railing, you open the blanket, releasing the soot sprites which get swept up by the chilly wind. They float away like little pieces of confetti and quickly turn to minuscule black specks on the horizon.

 

"Good riddance," you mutter under your breath. Sigh, another thing to add to your to do list, you note as you look despairingly at the dirtied blanket. You just cleaned those. And they were your favorite! Your green slimer ones!

 

You spread the blanket out on the drying rack on your balcony. No sense on dumping it with your other laundry. It'd just make an even bigger ashy mess.  Meanwhile, you absently note the lack of shadows overcast onto your balcony. Nice weather. Barely any clouds to block out the sun which is currently high in the sky. You should probably wear a hat for the walk to school.... School.  A lightbulb goes off in your head.

 

"I'm late for school!"

 

* * *

 

 

In a span of ten minutes tops, you are showered, dressed, packed, and off sprinting to your morning classes.

 

It's a rather nice day for Washington so you are dressed in appropriate attire. A pair of black sneakers cover your feet, paired with your favorite cargo shorts and a short sleeved gray v-neck tee. You also throw on a hat and a blue windbreaker for extra measure just in case the weather decided to take a turn for the worst.

 

And it does get worse. Just not in the way you had originally thought. Normally you'd carry a few talismans on hand just in case the spirits got particularly bold, but in your haste to get to class on time you left them behind in your apartment which is always a recipe for disaster.

 

About halfway through your trek to your school, you stumble upon a particularly grotesque monster. It's a deformed ethereal one that floats listlessly in the air as hazy purples fumes are excreted from its body. Eyes of all different sizes and colors protrude from its body, all of which focus their gazes on you.

 

Cue mistake two. Wow, you are on a roll today. You make eye contact with the spirit and in that moment, find yourself inexplicably rooted to your spot, helpless as it extends a ghastly purple appendage.

 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit. AUGH. Godammit.”

 

You cuss as you franticly twist and pull your body in an attempt to escape. However, it’s all in vain as the limb snakes around your clothed arm. A wave of nausea hits you as the unbearable stench of the spirit’s fumes reach your nose. Stale morning breath and rotten cheese. You cringe your nose in reflex.

 

With every inch the limb creeps up, a coldness spreads up your arm. Just as it was about to wrap itself around your neck, you extricate yourself from your jacket, leaving it in favor of becoming a little snack for the spirit. You high-tail it out of there, not bothering to look back, and make a dead sprint for the science building.

 

You are late…late…late. So late-

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a quaint little bakery in the middle of a grassy lot. How odd to be standing alone unattached to any buildings, especially in the middle of a metropolitan city. But other than that, you have no idea why it catches your eye to be honest. You don’t have time for this! It’s not even that amazing of a bakery, but you’ve never seen it before in all your times of going to school. However, you must admit that the bakery is tastefully decorated. It appears to be a French bakery with pastel colors, wrought iron chairs and tables on the exterior, and lots of glass windows, but it is all done with a Japanese twist. Maple leaf, sakura, and bonsai trees and various flowers fill the lot, interspersed with several large moss covered rocks. There is also small wooden bridge leading up to the bakery, spanning the length of a small river that appears to extend the perimeter of the property, even around what appears to be a greenhouse attachment right next to the bakery.

 

Huh, there is no name anywhere on the building. That's curious. There’s even a lilac board hanging above the entrance, empty and unsigned, where the name would typically be displayed. At that moment you feel a tug in the back of your mind. A small gentle yet insistent whisper.

 

_You have to go there..._

   

_You need to go there..._

_Bzzzzzz...Bzzzz_

_Come in to have your wish grante-_

_Bzzzzzz...Bzzzz_

 

You blink. What was going on again? You look around to check around your surroundings. This isn’t the street. You hear the sound of water flowing and spot dense foliage on either side of you. Definitely not the street. You feel a cold sensation beneath your right hand. Your hand is resting on the metal handle of the bakery’s door, and you immediately yank it back in surprise.

 

“What the hell? When did I even get here?”

 

You muss your hair in frustration and raise a hand underneath your glasses to pinch at the bridge of your nose. That nightmare last night must have seriously cut into your sleep. Your mind is obviously not functioning today.

 

_Bzzzzzz...Bzzzz_

“I get it already. What the hell?" you muse as you are pulled back out of your reverie. You rummage through your pockets for the source of the annoying vibrations. 8:30 A.M. flashes bright and bold on your phone screen.

 

You are soooo late for class. The whole world must be conspiring against to you today you think as you sprint the rest of the way to the campus, your mind focused solely on the humiliation you are surely about to face. The incident at the bakery long forgotten.

 

* * *

 

 

Tree branches sway lightly in the breeze which send a scattering of petals up into the air.

Light pink petals float gently up higher across the front of a building.

A lilac board is covered in scrawling cursive writing.

A simple eight letter word.

Hitsuzen.

 

* * *

 

 

"Gah! You're back? I thought I got rid of you this morning!”

 

You are once again sent sprinting down the busy streets of San Francisco, backpack bouncing up and down on your back and hair flying around uncontrollably in the brisk wind. You must look like a maniac to onlookers. Easy for them! They can’t see the gaseous eyeball spirit drifting speedily towards you, purple limbs outstretched in front, snaking dangerously at you.

 

Your chest heaves as it takes in the chilly air and your muscles burn as they are pushed past their limit. The only thing keeping you going at the moment is the adrenaline-spiked fear of the spirit.

 

You cast a precautionary glance over your shoulder. Eep! You sidestep to your right just as a purple limb curls around air where you once stood. It’s gaining. Your heartbeat picks up speed.

 

Quickly you round a corner. You don’t think you can go any longer until you spot the side of a lilac colored building. The bakery from earlier that morning! You muster the last bit of strength in your burning limbs and make a mad dash towards the door. Your hands shake with adrenaline and exhaustion as you struggle to slide it open.

 

_Click!_

 

You quickly open the door and slam it closed behind you. You slump down onto the ground, back curved into yourself. You fold your arms onto your knees, placing your head on them as you take measured breaths in another attempt to calm yourself down. This is way too much running in one day.

 

The spirits have definitely become more persistent lately. Up until your eighteenth birthday, you experienced only minor altercations with them. For the most part they would stay to themselves and go about their business or look upon you with inquisitive eyes. However, immediately afterwards, the spirits became more aggressive. They would actively seek you out and attack you, forcing you to buy some secondhand talismans online as a cheap source of protection. While they didn’t permanently expel them, the slips of paper were sufficient in temporarily stunning them and rendering them immobile, allowing you to make your escape. They weren’t always successful though. You often fled these altercations with blooming bruises and bleeding cuts and lots of broken pairs of glasses. If anything positive at all could be gleaned from this, you became quite proficient with a first-aid kit.

 

You sigh tiredly into the cavity formed by your curled body.

 

“Welcome.”

 

You jerk your head up to meet the gaze of two pairs of eyes. Well actually more like one pair in total. Leaned forward towards you stand two young children, one boy and one girl, who appear no older than eight, both of whom are dressed in peculiar colorful attire. Both children are wearing hooded ponchos. The thin yet sturdy material flows over their shoulders to their hips and over their heads is a hood adorned with fuzzy pointed dog ears which are incredibly realistic. You are almost tempted to reach a hand up to pet the luscious-looking fur.

 

The girl has choppily-cut chin-length hair as white as snow offsetting her vibrant piercing ice-blue eye. Her left eye, you note, is scared over. Must have been an injury inflicted long ago as the marred skin is stretched thin and faint. Her poncho is vertically striped with alternating dark and light blue colors with a white band skirting the edge of it. Wrapped around her neck is a pink and white striped woolly scarf that all but covers half of her pale face. Her legs are adorned in light gray stockings and white flats.

 

The boy to her right is a stark opposite. He is wearing a black poncho with orange pockets on either side. Surrounding is neck is what you can describe as an amalgam of colored fabrics. Layers of white-polka dotted red, solid orange, and checkered pink fabrics are layered on a top of another in ruffles, something akin to what a clown would wear around his neck. Underneath the poncho is a pair of flared red knee-length shorts. Whereas the girl is practically the embodiment of winter and ice, the boy is summer and the tropics, yet only in appearance. His long raven hair frames his face in curly locks that almost rival your untamable ones. His tan olive skin is smooth and clean, all except for the long scar covering his right eye. The warmth of his skin, however, doesn’t reach his other functioning eye. It is a thin almond shape, a deep endless black that is staring back at you in annoyance and disdain. 

 

Regardless, both children extend their hands toward you and you accept tentatively, rising to your feet. You run your hands down your clothes in an attempt to tidy your appearance and you tuck your hat into your deep pocket.

 

The children keep a firm grip on your hand and you find yourself dragged deeper into the store. Once you’re past the waiting area you are faced with a rather large room in a similar lilac and sea foam green as the exterior. Directly in your line of sight is a lady who looks no older than twenty-five. Her dress is a long black one with a flowing skirt that hugs her thighs and splays out at her knees. The top is a low V with a triangular cutout right beneath her chest, revealing a [glimpse of porcelain skin. Joining the two portions is a dark purple laced corset with light lavender vertical stripes. Her bobbed hair is a very light blonde, almost as if she had bleach dyed it, and is held back by a think black headband, out of the way of her peculiarly lavender eyes and deep eggplant-colored lips. It’s classy and at first glance appears to be out of place in the lightly decorated shop, but the more you look at her, the more she appears to suite it. Opposites have that effect you suppose.

 

She looks up from her novel, making eye contact with you. Is she wearing contacts? That shade of purple is impossible on a human in reality. Then you notice her painted lips moving and realize she is talking.

 

“Bec, Pere. Children, bring him over here. Grab us both a cup of oolong tea as well as a plate of desert for the gentleman,” the lady beckons as you seat yourself in the chair across from her. “By the way Bec, I’ve removed all the peppers from the kitchen so don’t even think about adding it in.” She flashes a warning smile to the little boy who refuses to look at her. He noncommittally grunts dragging the young girl by the wrist to pull her into the back of the shop.

 

The lady redirects her attention towards you casting a mellower smile that you find yourself unconsciously returning. “Welcome to the Hitsuzen. I am one of the proprietors Rose Lalonde, at your service.”

 

She extends a slender hand towards you for a handshake, and you take it, her grip delicate but strong. “John,” you introduce. Pulling away you raise your hand to your neck in embarrassment.  “Sorry to barge into your bakery like that. I’m not sure what overcome me there. Sorry, were you closed for the day?” you inquire, noting the empty chairs and tables in the room.

 

“Oh don’t mind it at all. We weren’t closed. Business was just a bit slow today.”

 

“I wonder why? This bakery is gorgeous. I’m sure you get tons of business normally.”

 

The lady- Rose- quirks a smile at the compliment, and you can feel the blood rise to your cheeks in response. “Oh plenty. Very probably not the business you believe though.”

 

You raise a skeptical eyebrow which Rose either does not notice or deliberately ignores. What could she possibly mean? But as you open your mouth to ask, two teacups are placed down on the clothed table, yours a little harder causing it to slosh against the rim. It is also accompanied with a slice of chocolate cake with a colorful floral garnish. You look to the side at the young boy, Bec as he is called, but he doesn’t comment and continues to give you an unnerving judgmental stare.

 

“Thanks…” you begin as he walks away in a huff. You eagerly pick up a fork and scoop a piece of the cake into your mouth. You sigh into bite. Heavenly.

 

“Glad you think so. We do employ a top rate baker”

 

You flush again in embarrassment. You didn’t realize you had said that out loud. How embarrassing.

 

“However, you do know that it wasn’t chance that brought you here but hitsuzen.”

 

“Um. . .excuse me. Are you referring to the name of your bakery?” You inquire, perplexed.

 

“No. Hitsuzen. Fate. Destiny. The Red String. There are many words for it nowadays.”

 

“Nowadays?” You chuckle slightly to yourself. “You sound like an old timer there. But you hardly look a day over twenty.”

 

Rose leans over the table to swat your arm lightly, breaking out into a wide toothy grin much unlike the small polite ones from earlier. “A sweet talker I see. But before you derail me, you came to this shop for a reason. Everyone does, even though for different reasons. You were being followed by beings not of this world. Am I correct?”

 

You start for a moment. How could she know this? Could she see them too?

 

“Yes I can, but they do not pursue me as they do you. They do not dare deal with me. They know much better than to trifle with someone like me.”

 

Your jaw drops again. She can mind read?

 

Rose breaks out in another hearty laugh as she raises her hand to cover her mouth. “Goodness no. Just your mouth seems to move before your mind does.” You feel another blush creep up to your neck to your face. “But if you need help believing. . .Bec, Pere, please bring out my wide-brimmed bowl and fill it with water from the well out back.”

 

“Um. . .If you don’t mind me asking, how does water help with anything? Do I need to wash my hands or something?”

 

“It is for a mere showcase of my abilities so that you at least understand that I am capable of granting your wish.”

 

“My wish? I’m sorry, you must have some mistake. I don’t have any wish.”

 

Rose raises her eyes to meet yours but not to look at you. It is almost as if she is looking at something deeper, something that you are not privy to see. “Of course you have a wish. Anyone who comes into this shop has one.”

 

The backdoor of the bakery slides open, and in walk the two children, each carrying one end of a wide shallow bowl. They make their way to the table, clearing it before placing the water in front of Rose.

 

“If you don’t mind, please hand me the hat in your back pocket.”

 

Your pocket. You rise slightly form your seat to pull out the folded hat you wore that morning. It’s old and well-worn, from the baseball heyday of Babe Ruth. It was gifted to you several years ago by a friend who happened to be a baseball fanatic.

 

Rose plucks it out of your hand and turns it around to inspect it.

 

“An antique. Decades old. This will do.” She hands it off to Pere. Flexing her fingers, a soft purple light envelops her hands, and with a few languid sweeps, an intricately patterned circle appears levitating above the water-filled bowl.

 

You start, perplexed and very much confused by the sight in front of you. There is no way she is human.

 

 With outstretched palms, Rose directs the circle downwards, submerging it into the water. The light emitted from the circle strengthens in intensity forcing you to look away lest you become blind. Instead you look at Rose, whose face has become illuminated with a purplish and gray tint. Her violet eyes similarly appear more vibrant and a breeze out of nowhere picks up.

 

“John Egbert” you perk up at the utterance of your name. You never gave her your full name, or so you think.

 

“It was written on the interior of your hat.”

 

You struggle against the urge to groan in frustration and face plant on the desk. This lady is not good for our health.

 

“Born April 13. But you are not living in the same place you were born in. You moved at some point.” Your eyes widen at this remark. “You are skillful. Good at housework and quite an exceptional chef. Not to mention intelligent. You are the only son of James and Jessica Egbert. Acquired the ability to see spirits at the age of two but didn’t strongly attract them until the age of four when your parents passed away.”

 

Reflexively, you find your hands severely clenching at the table cloth while your jaw muscles tighten at the mention of your parents’ death. But she continues on.

 

“It is because of your blood. It attracts these strange things. But your parents. They were very . . . special people. Important and powerful people. However,” she peers over into the glowing water. “You. . . you have an even more intriguing future. You. . .the Heir of Breath. Friend Leader. Your life is filled with even more hardships than what you have already experienced. It will be a long difficult goal to fulfill, but red. Red is a double edged blade. It will cause much suffering and pain, but it will also provide the solace, the protection, and most importantly, the love to protect the blue.”

 

Slowly the purple light dies down, and the area becomes illuminated in light. When did it even get darker? You scrub at your eyes as they attempt to readjust themselves to the light change. When you finally adjust, the water bowl is gone along with the two children and Rose is gazing at you expectantly, hands folded on her lap.

 

“Thank you for the hat.”

 

“Sorry? Why are you keeping it? That’s mine.”

 

She sighs waving her hands around in explanation. “It’s payment. For any wish you must pay a price that is exactly equal in value. No more. No less. It must be perfectly in balance. Otherwise,” she raises a hand to your cheek and you flinch back reflexively at her cold touch. “Someone will get hurt.”

 

“Excuse me?” You inquire but you receive no reply as she merely retracts her hand. “This is no bakery.”

 

Rose smirks at your realization. “Correct. This,” she gestures to the surrounding shop. “This is a wish shop. Here any wish can be granted so long as a price is paid. Therefore, if you want your wish to be granted, I will have to take something important of yours.”

 

“But I told you before! I don’t have a wish!” you say exasperatedly.

 

“Really now? Do you not want to stop seeing those things that haunt you?”

 

You’re eyes widen at her proposition. “Is this true?”

 

“So long as you are willing. Simply pretend you cannot see them anymore. Then they will no longer follow you.”

 

You cast a skeptical eye. “How can it be that simple? If it was, I would have done that years ago”

 

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s not that easy.” Her playful grin makes you want to reach over the table and throttle her. “But no matter. It has already been decided.”

 

“Excuse me?” You lower your threatening arms back into you, placing them on the table

 

She once again reaches across the table to sandwich your hand in between both of hers. She raises your right pinky as well as hers. “We are already connected by Fate. You and I.

Every meeting no matter its importance will change the future. Because the path of life is unstoppable and neverending. The least significant thing, the briefest encounter, the vaguest memory, they will all be a part of your fate. Therefore, you choosing my shop to enter out of all the buildings in the city is all a part of fate. So” she grasps your hand tighter. “What is your wish?”

 

You dwell silently on the gravity of wish. Finally. Finally you may be free from the spirits, the root of all your misfortune in your life. Finally, you may be able to live a normal life.

 

You steel yourself and with resolution in your eyes and voice, you announce, “I wish to be free of the spirits which plague me.”

 

She smiles eerily at you. “Glad to do business with you.” She releases your hand and stands up, brushing her impeccable skirt, and gestures you to do likewise.

 

“But wait! What’s the price?”

 

“The price.” Rose hums in contemplation tapping a black nail to her pale cheek. “You shall work here in this bakery.  When you have worked enough, I will fulfill your wish.”

 

You stand in confusion, waiting for her to retract her statement as a joke, but she makes no move to do so, merely watching you and waiting for your response. You scoff in disbelief. “I thought you already had a baker. An amazing one at that. I highly doubt I can perform at his level.”

 

“Oh, but our baker’s contract is just reaching its end. You start next week in the kitchen.” With that, she spins on her heels and walks to the back of the shop. She disappears without another word, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the shop, perplexed, confused, and overall very overwhelmed.

 

You feel a gentle pull at your sleeves and you are quickly ushered out by the two children. The door slams behind you, pulling you out of your stupor.

 

You are tempted to flop on the ground, but that would only attract attention. In favor, you sluggishly walk of the property back home. Just what did you get yourself into.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Haha I hope my writing has improved since my last. Comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Illustrations will be posted on my tumblr account: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xkeshire  
> they'll be of the various outfits and locations in this fic so ya'll have a better understanding of what i'm imaging  
> and hopefully they'll be up in the span of a few days
> 
> Oh also! I will be posting little cuts of my fanfics on my tumblr account, something to keep you tied over as I work on them. Guaranteed little bits of sappy heaven :P  
> ____
> 
> Mythology:
> 
> 4: the number of death in Japan
> 
> White Chrysanthemums: the japanese flower for death and grief. It is most common for funerals.
> 
> the woman who attacks the Egbert family: Nukekubi - a female yokai with a detachable head who is known to perform bad deeds such as attacking humans at night and drinking their blood. It can only be killed when they sleep when their heads are detached.
> 
> soot sprites (Susuwatari) - a fictional yokai from Hayao Miyazaki's My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away. They have black fuzzy tennis-ball sized bodies with two large eyes and long thin limbs.
> 
> Hitsuzen: means fate in Japanese


End file.
